


Destined for Greatness (Or Madness)

by lameassmadeupmaidenname



Category: Hair - MacDermot/Rado/Ragni
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Modern Retelling, Multi, some of these kids are in high school some aren't sry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-04-10 10:03:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4387538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lameassmadeupmaidenname/pseuds/lameassmadeupmaidenname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A modern AU/retelling of Hair. In 2015, Claude struggles under pressure from his parents to enlist in the military to pay for his education, despite his personal values and those of his friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Believe in Love

Walking to Central Park had never been more joyful than on June 26 th , 2015, when the city was flooded with people there for Pride and rainbow flags hung out the windows of cars passing on the street and cheers and laughter filled the air. And Claude was with Berger and Sheila – Sheila, who looked happier, lighter, less stressed than Claude had seen her in weeks. She skipped ahead of Claude and Berger, her hair flying around her face in the wind as she hummed a song that Claude could just catch vague strains of but sounded like the Beatles' “All You Need is Love.”

Claude knew how she felt. The real world had been taking a toll on him as well. They never told you in school how stressful it was to be an adult. It was nice to forget about it and take a day to just celebrate.

Claude fumbled in his pocket for his phone. He needed to record a moment of this day, thinking this would be a good one to relive again and again. Berger spotted this and bounded over closer to him. “Vine?” he asked.

Claude nodded, opening the video function to record. He smiled when he saw the pride flags he'd painted on his face – he'd forgotten they were there. Berger flung his arm around Claude's shoulders. “Six seconds,” Claude reminded him – Berger could talk a lot, but the attention spans of Vine users were not meant for Berger's long talks.

Berger planted a sloppy kiss on Claude's cheek, then held up two fingers in a peace sign, his arm still around Claude's shoulders. “Happy Pride,” Berger said, “and God bless the US-fucking-A.”

Claude was still giggling as he posted the video. Berger called ahead to Sheila: “Hey, Sheila, guess what? We can get married now.”

Sheila hardly looked around as she retorted, “Our marriage was never in jeopardy, sweetie. Now I'm free to ditch you and marry Jeannie.”

Berger looked at Claude. “Do  _ you _ think Jeannie would be a better wife than me?”

Claude was spared having to answer this question when Berger suddenly raced ahead to greet Crissy, Jeannie, Dionne, and Hud, who were sprawled across the grass of Central Park, with several bags of chips open amongst them. He flopped down on the grass with them and announced, “Gay marriage is ruining my life already. Sheila's decided she's leaving me for a woman. Specifically, Jeannie.” This was met with laughter from everyone, excluding Berger, who looked wounded.

Sheila sat down next to him, and grabbed his hand, kissing it. “Don't be so dramatic, baby.”

Crissy seemed to remain blissfully unaware of everything going on around her. She sat cross-legged and blasted “Welcome to New York” on a loop from her iPhone, screaming the lyrics “ _ you can want who you want, boys and boys and girls and girls _ ” as if Taylor Swift herself had materialized in the Supreme Court room that day and willed everyone to sign marriage equality into law.

“Hey, Crissy,” said Claude.

Crissy's eyes lit up and she reached out a hand. “Claude!” she cried. “Isn't this the happiest you've ever been?”

Claude took her hand, squeezing it, and sat down. “Probably is.”

Crissy beamed at him. “You need to be happy once in a while, you know?”

Claude shrugged and smiled.

“Claude,” called Sheila, “take it from someone who's stressed ninety percent of the time – just be happy today. You can always worry more tomorrow.”

“I'm not unhappy!” protested Claude. “I'm not worried! What would I be worried about?”

“Claude, you've been worrying about something for weeks,” said Jeannie. “Don't think we can't tell. If you don't want to talk about it we don't have to, though.”

“Okay then,” Claude said, smiling again – though the the smile was starting to feel forced. “Let's not talk about it. Hey, Woof's here!”

Woof was indeed running across the park towards the group – wearing what appeared to be the rainbow-patterned pride flag like a toga.

“Woof!” shouted Berger. “Are you wearing anything under that?”

“That's a very personal question to ask, Berger,” said Woof as he joined the group, sitting down next to Dionne and Hud and putting his arms around them. “Hi, Dionne. Hi, Hud. Hi, everybody.”

Dionne patted Woof's cheek. “Hi, honey. Looks like you've been having fun.”

“Pass me the Doritos,” said Woof, as “Welcome to New York” began yet another repetition.

“Crissy!” Sheila burst out. “My God, can you change the song, _please_ , this has to be at least the tenth time!”

Crissy seized her iPhone. “Oh, Woof, I know just what to play for you!” She scrolled frantically through her playlist before selecting a song. Claude burst out laughing as the opening chords to One Direction's “What Makes You Beautiful” began to play.

Woof looked around at everyone, who had all turned to look at him. He lifted his arms in a shrug. “ _ What?  _ Why are you all staring? ”

“We're all waiting for your engagement announcement now,” giggled Jeannie. “You and Harry Styles?”

Woof drew himself up, carefully straightening his toga. “You all make fun, but it's very serious.”

“You know, Woof's kind of right,” Sheila said.

Woof looked startled. “I am?”

Sheila waved a hand. “I mean, not about your ridiculous crush on Harry Styles, but...” Sheila took a potato chip and paused. “It is serious.” She gestured with the potato chip like she'd forgotten she was supposed to eat it. “Everything that's happened today is really important.” A smile spread across her face. “I'm really happy, guys.”

“I love you, Sheila,” said Claude.

“I love you more, Sheila,” said Berger, as if it was a contest.

“We all love you, Sheila,” said Dionne, and this was followed by everyone echoing the sentiment in a loud and joyous chorus of “ _WE LOVE YOU, SHEILA_ ,” and Jeannie tackled her in a hug.

The sun was setting by the time the group began to split, everyone either heading home or at least finding somewhere else to sleep for the night.

“Claudio,” said Berger. “You coming with me and Sheila?” Sheila's was always a reliable place to stay, as she lived on her own in NYU's student apartments and was willing to let anyone in the group crash there when they needed it. And every one of them had needed it at one time or another.

Claude heaved himself to his feet, brushing grass off his jeans. “No, I've gotta go home. My mom is – she's been...”

Berger nodded, no explanation needed. “No worries.” He slung an arm around Sheila's shoulders, and Sheila waved to Claude as they walked off, and Claude turned the opposite way.

When Claude arrived home, the apartment was dark. “Mom?” he called. “Dad?” He walked in to the kitchen to find something to eat, and spotted for pamphlets on the table – for the Army, the Navy, the Air Force, and the Marines. He groaned, pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, and pretended they weren't there. When he opened his eyes, they were still there.

He went into his bedroom, which was, frankly, too small for him anymore, but in there it was easy to pretend that nothing else in the world existed. That is, until the door slam that indicated his parents had returned.

“Claude, are you here?” his mother called.

Claude stuck his head out of his room. “Yeah.”

His mother smiled. “You have a good day?”

Claude felt a shy, bright smile spread across his face as he recalled the events of the day. “Yeah, I did, actually, I – ”

“I'm glad to hear it,” his mother said absently, and Claude realized the question was routine and she hadn't really cared about the answer.

He noticed his dad looking at him. Claude met his eyes briefly, but his father rolled his eyes, sighed, and took his newspaper into the living room. Claude wasn't sure what he'd done to deserve the eye-roll this time, but it was nothing new. He ducked back into his room to change clothes.

“Claude,” his mother said again, “did you see what I left for you on the kitchen table?”

Claude froze in the act of taking off his shirt. “No,” he lied, his voice muffled in the fabric of the shirt stuck over his head. Maybe she wouldn't hear him and would leave him alone.

She opened his bedroom door and Claude quickly pulled his shirt off his head. She held up the pamphlets.

“Mom...” he said, knowing it was useless to protest but needing to anyway.

She shoved them into his chest. “They will pay for your education.”

“I know, but – ”

“But? You don't have a job, we can't afford for you to go to college, what do you want us to do?” she demanded.

Claude didn't answer, but took the pamphlets. “Can we talk about this tomorrow?” The elation he'd been riding all day was fading fast.

His mother opened her mouth to retort, then stopped and nodded. She looked at him sympathetically, patted his cheek. “Wash your face,” she said, then left him alone.

Claude's brow furrowed – an odd parting remark, but then he remembered the pride flags painted on his cheeks and realized why his father had rolled his eyes. He scowled and shut his bedroom door. In a fit of frustration, he flung both middle fingers up in the general direction of his parents, then flopped over on his bed. He did not wash the pride flags off his cheeks.

 

 


	2. I Got Good Times, Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fourth of July with the Tribe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're one of the, like, five people who watched The Middleman, there's a reference in here you might get.
> 
> Also, I'm never writing scenes with more than 4 people involved again. That is harder than you'd think.

**Chapter Two**

**I Got Good Times, Man**

 

Hud had suggested they make their way out of the city for the Fourth of July. It wasn't like they hadn't all seen NYC's fireworks before, and a friend of his had told him about a lesser-known beach, more secluded, less traffic - the implication being that they could drink and smoke with less fear of being caught by the cops. So t hey all piled in to a minivan Sheila borrowed from a friend and drove out of the city.

At a lull in the raucous singing that had filled the car during the first part of the drive, Claude spoke up from the backseat. “Hey guys, can I – ” He broke off as he took stock of who was actually in the car. “Where's Jeannie? Isn't she coming?”

“She's held up,” Dionne said. “She's gonna try to meet us there later. What's up, Claude?”

Claude chewed on his lower lip. No one seemed to be listening. Crissy was still singing along to the radio, Berger and Woof were elbowing each other, fighting over the limited space in the backseat, Sheila was concentrating on the road. Maybe he should keep this to himself.

Sheila looked at Claude through the rearview mirror over her head and echoed Dionne. “What's up?”

“My parents think I should enlist,” he finally blurted.

Sheila actually turned around to look at him. “ What? In the army?”

Claude continued to chew on his lip. “Yeah.”

“Sheila, watch the road,” snapped Dionne. She turned to look at Claude instead. “ _What_? Why?”

He shrugged. “So I can go to college.”

Berger burst out laughing, and Crissy turned around and smacked him. “It's not funny!”

“No, it's just _stupid_ ,” Sheila said sharply. “Like Claude would do something like that.”

“You know, it's not really that stupid an idea,” Hud pointed out. “They do pay for your education. It's a better deal than a lot of people get. Better than any of us get, anyway.”

“Yeah, in exchange for you becoming a murderer,” Sheila snapped. She raised a hand towards the sky. “All in the name of _America_ , of course!”

“Stop it,” said Crissy. “This isn't about your political opinions – ”

“That we all agree with, by the way,” Dionne cut in.

“ – this is about Claude,” Crissy finished.

“It's not a big deal,” Claude said. “I just wanted to let you guys know.”

“Why do they want you to enlist?” Crissy asked.

“Oh, I can answer this one!” Berger grinned and threw an arm around Claude's shoulders. “Here's my impression of Mrs. Bukowski.” He cleared his throat and adopted a higher-pitched voice. “ _Claude_!” He shook his finger in Claude's face. “You graduated from high school _one year ago_! A whole year! And nothing to show for it! Just what are you going to do with your life, young man?! How are you going to support this family? Your father can't do everything! Make something of yourself!”

A slow grin spread across Claude's face. “You sound just like her.”

“But wait, there's more, I can do your dad too.” Berger cleared his throat again, this time deepening his voice. “Son, if you can't get off your lazy ass and help support this household I don't know why we let you stay here. Get a job. Be a man. A good smack will get your head out of the clouds.”

Claude shoved Berger away, mocking shock. “Dad, what are you doing here? Guys, who let my dad come?” Unable to keep a straight face, Claude dissolved into giggles, at which point Berger couldn't keep it together either and burst into laughter.

“Nah, I know because I get the same deal,” Berger said, after he stopped laughing. “Lucky for me the school system was nice enough to give me another year of high school in which to figure out what I'm doing with my life. Sorry you had to graduate and move on to the real world, buddy.” He pointed at Sheila, who was looking at him through the rear view mirror. “Don't give me that look, Sheila. The principal hates me. We've talked about this.”

Sheila opened her mouth, but Hud cut in before she could retort. “I swear,” he said, “do not do this now.” He pointed out the window. “We're almost there anyway. Take this exit.”

As they arrived at the beach and everyone piled out of the car, Sheila grabbed Claude's hand in both of hers, stopping him. “Hey,” she said. “I didn't mean to derail the conversation earlier. Are you okay?”

Claude shrugged. “Yeah.”

Sheila smiled nervously. “I mean you're not going to do it.”

“Enlist?” Claude hesitated, then forced a laugh and shook his head. “No, of course not.”

Sheila squeezed his hand. “Right.” She stared at him, wanting him to elaborate, but Claude didn't have anything else to say to her, and he was starting to feel uncomfortable under her gaze. He carefully pulled his hand out of her grasp.

“I should help the others unload,” he said gently.

By sunset they had built a bonfire on the beach. With the fire burning, the heat was stifling, even with the sun dipping below the horizon, but after a certain point everyone was too drunk or high to care.

Claude sat by the fire, smoking a joint. He held his years-old camcorder that he'd bought cheap and used, the red RECORD light blinking, the viewfinder pointed out at the water. Berger carried Sheila on his back; Dionne was on Hud's, and they were playing some sort of net-less volleyball that was rapidly devolving into a water fight. Meanwhile Crissy had buried Woof from neck to toe in the sand and was now building a sandcastle on top of him.

“Hey Claude.”

Claude swiveled around, pointing his camera up at Jeannie, who had just approached. “Hey!” he said. “We were wondering if you were gonna make it!”

Jeannie dropped her bag on the ground and sat down next to Claude, who followed her with the camera. She gave him a tired smile. “Do you have to have that pointed at me? I look terrible."

“No you don't,” said Claude, but he turned the camera back to the group in the water. “What kept you, anyway?”

Jeannie waved a hand dismissively. “Nothing, I just – ” She sighed. “Had to get away from this guy I've been seeing. Well, saw,” she amended. “It wasn't really an ongoing thing, more of a one time – sorry, I'm rambling.”

“I asked,” Claude pointed out. “Are you okay?”

Jeannie shrugged. “Yeah,” she said, and smiled. “He just turned out to be some kind of crazy druggie. Like, just crazy stuff, you know? Not like – ” She gestured to the joint Claude had in his hand. “Is there more of that, by the way, or did you smoke it all? I swear I need to get stoned.”

Claude held the joint out to her. “You can have this. Woof has more, but he's buried in the sand right now.”

Jeannie glanced over at Crissy and Woof and laughed out loud. “Hi Crissy! Hi Woof!”

“Jeannie, you're here!” squealed Crissy. “Come help me with this sandcastle!”

“She's going to keep me stuck here forever,” said Woof mournfully.

Claude went back to watching Berger and Sheila via the screen on his camera. He glanced up and thought that the camera didn't do justice to the light from the setting sun catching in Sheila's hair.

As he watched, Hud threw the volleyball at Berger, who caught it hard in the chest, lost his grip on Sheila, slipped, and they both fell in the shallow water.

“Berger!” Sheila shrieked, while Berger laughed his head off. “I knew you were going to do that!” She surged to her feet, splashing water at Hud and Dionne. “Easy for you to laugh!” She shoved Hud, sending both him and Dionne into the water too.

Dionne let out a yelp. “Sheila! That's not fair!” After more tussles, screams, and swearing, the four of them ended up in the water again, all scrambling to find their footing.

“Baby, baby, baby,” Berger said through giggles. “Come here.” He grabbed Sheila's hand and pulled her up out of the water to kiss her.

Claude saw Jeannie looking at him out of the corner of his eye, and when he met her gaze, she quickly smiled and looked away.

“You wanna come swimming?” Claude asked.

Jeannie shook her head. “Nah. I'd rather sit here and get wasted. I can take your camera if you want,” she offered.

Claude passed off his camera to Jeannie before stripping to his boxers. Berger caught sight of this from the water's edge and let out a whoop. “Claude! You finally joining us?”

He raced up the beach, grabbed Claude by the hand, and dragged him back into the water. Claude stopped once he was about knee-deep in the ocean; the water was freezing. Claude rubbed his arms as goosebumps erupted over his body.

A wicked grin appeared on Berger's face. “Cold?”

Claude realized what Berger was thinking a second before he lunged for him, and Claude managed to scramble away. “No!” he yelped. “Help!”

“Accept your fate, Claude,” Sheila shouted from the beach through cupped hands. “There is no escape.”

Berger seized Claude by the arm; Claude tried to pull away, but slipped and fell into the water. Waves crashed over his head, the sudden chill making his heart stop.

“Holy – fuck!” he screeched when he surfaced. “That's fucking cold!” He shook his hair out of his eyes, tried to stand, and was knocked over again by another wave. Berger cackled madly above him.

“All right, baby,” Berger said, finally taking pity. “Come here.” He offered Claude his hand, and pulled him, shivering, to his feet. Berger dragged Claude in close to his body, which was, somehow, warm – Claude had never known Berger to be cold, he didn't think Berger could _feel_ cold – and kissed him. Claude's heart stuttered again as Berger twisted his hand up into Claude's hair at the back of his head.

It was hard to tell what Berger meant when he kissed Claude. More than likely, because it was Berger, he didn't mean anything by it. But it was very easy for Claude to forget that and pretend, for the moment at least, that it meant everything.

“Boys!” bellowed Jeannie.

Berger pulled away from Claude, and Claude felt like he was floating down from the clouds.

“ _What_?” Berger bellowed back at Jeannie.

“The ice caps are melting,” Jeannie said, “and if you stand out there too long the water will rise and you both are gonna drown in the icy waters of the North Atlantic.”

“You think we can last, like, ten minutes?” Claude shot back.

“But we have sparklers!” yelled Crissy.

Claude exchanged a look with Berger, then bolted for the beach. “Crissy's got my attention now, bye, Berger!”

“You're ditching me for _sparklers_?” Berger demanded, trudging after him. “And _Crissy_?”

Crissy stuck her tongue out at Berger and handed him two sparklers. “Careful, I'll stick you with this.”

“Try it, I might like it,” Berger said, and winked as Crissy laughed. “Got a light for these?”

“I do,” Dionne said, clicking the lighter.

Claude flung his arm around Berger's shoulders and waited while Dionne lit the sparklers in Berger's hand, before holding out his own. “Do me next, Dionne.”

Berger snickered and elbowed Claude in the ribs. Claude stifled his own giggles trying to keep his hand steady, while Berger, with total abandon, doubled over laughing.

“You are holding small explosives,” said Dionne. “If you end up burning yourselves fucking around like that, I'm gonna be the one laughing.”

“They're not _explosives_!” Berger said, then paused. “Kind of.”

Claude hit Berger in the chest. “Either way, they're going to burn out, come on.”

Claude raced down the beach with Berger chasing behind him. He spun, his arms held out around him so the lights from the sparklers surrounded him, then flopped down into the sand. Berger ran past him, yelling for him to keep up, but stopped when he saw Claude was lying down. Berger sat down next to him, staring at Claude.

“What're you doing?” he asked.

“You can write in the sky with these,” Claude said. “Watch.”

He held up a sparkler and traced his name in the sky. CLAUDE BUKOWSKI. The letters stayed for a moment, burned into his retinas as if they were actually etched into the darkness of the sky, before they slowly faded.

 


	3. I Got Bad Times, Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeannie gets some news, Berger is a sad puppy, and Sheila deals with everyone's feelings except her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some plot things? Sort of happening? I know what I'm doing! Yay! Also I'm trying to be careful about tagging everything I should so if there's anything I haven't tagged that should be tagged just y'know let me know.

**Chapter Three**

**I Got Bad Times, Too**

 

Sheila stood in her living room, surveying the mess that had somehow accumulated over the summer months. There was nothing she wanted to do today less than clean house, but with the semester starting and new roommates moving in in less than a month, it had to get done someday.

She sighed and yanked a blanket off the couch. Several socks fell to the ground, most of which were Berger's, as she did so.

“Gross,” Sheila muttered, and made a mental note to yell at Berger, yet again, about picking up after himself. Immediately thereafter she realized she was turning into his mother and made another mental note to let it slide.

Sheila dropped the blanket and the socks into the laundry basket in her bedroom, flopped facedown onto her bed, and groaned loudly into her sheets. She rolled over onto her back and stared at her ceiling, hoping someone would come over and give her an excuse not to clean anymore.

No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than there was a bang on her door.

“Sheila!” yelled Jeannie's voice. “Are you there?”

Sheila scrambled to her feet and bolted for the door, flinging it open. “Jeannie!” she said. “Thank God you're here, I almost had to clean my – are you okay?”

Jeannie fidgeted with the strap of the bag slung across her shoulder. “Can I come in?”

Sheila stepped back to let Jeannie pass. “Of course.” She followed her in, closing the door behind them. “What's going on?”

“I, um.” Jeannie paced the room. She took a shaky breath – she looked like she was about to cry, and Sheila moved to hug her, but stopped herself, unsure if Jeannie would want her to.

“I'm fine,” Jeannie said, forcing a smile. “I – ” She bit her lip. “I think I'm pregnant?”

Sheila grabbed her hand and pulled her over to the couch, sitting her down. “Are you sure?”

Jeannie shook her head. “I brought a test. I was going to take it at home, but Dionne's not there, and I didn't want to do it alone – ”

Sheila squeezed Jeannie's hands. “That's okay. That's okay. I'm here. I'll sit with you.”

xxx

Jeannie came out of the bathroom and thrust the pregnancy test into Sheila's hands. “I think I'm going to be sick waiting to see what that says. Or maybe it's morning sickness! Who knows!”

Sheila glanced at the clock. “It's 2:15 in the afternoon, it's not morning sickness. Just about a minute to wait on the test.”

Jeannie sat down next to Sheila and put her face in her hands. “Tell me when it says,” she said, her voice muffled.

Sheila watched the second hand on the clock go by, dead silence in the apartment. She looked at the pregnancy test, her heart skipping a beat as she realized it read positive. She cleared her throat. “Jeannie?” she said, and held out the test, unable to tell her.

“Let me see.” Jeannie snatched the test from Sheila and stared at it for a full thirty seconds before slamming it down onto the table next to her. She dug the heels of her hands into her eyes, elbows resting on her knees.

Sheila put her arm around Jeannie, rubbing her shoulders. “Jeannie?” she said. “Look at me, Jeannie.”

Jeannie did so. Her eyes were red but dry, her jaw set. “What?”

“I'm here for you.” She tried to smile encouragingly but it may have come off anxious and forced. “You know you're not alone, right?”

“Yeah,” Jeannie said softly. “I appreciate it.” After a pause Jeannie snorted and said, “My parents will have a field day when they find out. Stupid whore.”

“Jeannie! You're not – ”

“Don't tell me I'm not,” Jeannie snapped, “when I got knocked up by some freak who tried to get me fucked up on speed.”

Sheila fell silent and dropped her arm from around Jeannie's shoulders.

Jeannie sighed. She drew her knees up onto the couch, wrapping her arms around them. “Sorry for yelling at you,” she muttered. Rather suddenly, she burst into tears. “I wish it was Claude's!” She buried her face in her arms, her shoulders shaking as she cried.

“Claude's?” Sheila said weakly. She felt somehow caught off-guard. “I didn't – Jeannie, don't cry!” At a loss, she blurted a little aggressively, “What's so great about Claude anyway?”

Jeannie gave her a sidelong look and rolled her eyes. “Of course you don't realize. If you weren't so hung up on Berger, you  _ would _ .”

Sheila furrowed her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

Jeannie rubbed a hand over her face, wiping tears away. “Never mind. Everyone's hung up on someone. I'm hung up on Claude, you're hung up on Berger. Claude is hung up on a  _ cross _ over you  _ and _ Berger!”

“Me?” Sheila said in a small voice. “Jeannie, what are you _talking_ about?”

“I'm an expectant mother now!” she said, a little hysterically. “I can sense these things!”

Sheila put aside utter confusion and the ache in her chest that she couldn't explain. “Jeannie, what are you going to do about the baby?”

“I don't know yet!” Jeannie responded, even more hysterically.

Sheila bit her lip. “I'll go to Planned Parenthood with you if you want. We can figure it out from there.”

Jeannie shrugged and nodded. “I guess.”

Sheila pulled Jeannie closer and hugged her, holding her tightly for a long moment. “I'm here for you, honey.”

The quiet in the apartment was broken by the door opening suddenly. Both girls jumped and broke apart as Berger walked in. He looked slightly alarmed upon seeing Sheila and Jeannie. “Shit,” he said. “Crying girls. Should I leave?”

“Yes,” Sheila said.

“No!” Jeannie said at the same time. She grabbed her bag and stood up. “No, I can go.”

“Wait.” Sheila stood up too and seized Jeannie's hand. “You don't have to.”

Berger stared at them, eyebrows raised. “Okayyyy! Don't let me get in the middle of – ” he gestured between them, “ – whatever this is. I'm just gonna – I gotta pee?” He slunk into the bathroom.

“I don't want to get him involved, Sheila, come on,” said Jeannie. “I'm just gonna go home. Dionne will be there soon.”

Sheila nodded. “Okay.” She squeezed her hand. “Call me if you need anything.”

Jeannie gave her a small smile. “Thanks.”

Sheila closed the apartment door behind Jeannie as she left, and Berger's muffled voice called from the bathroom. “Is she gone?”

Sheila rolled her eyes. “Yes, the crying woman has left the building, it's safe.” She flopped down on the couch.

The bathroom door opened and something cardboard and purple flew out and hit Sheila on the head. “Um, ow?” she yelled.

“What the hell is that?” Berger screeched.

Sheila looked down and saw that the unidentified flying object was in fact the box from Jeannie's pregnancy test. She looked back up at Berger, staring at her through the crack in the bathroom door, hiding behind it as if it would protect him.

“Are you knocked up?” he demanded.

“No,” said Sheila.

He opened the door marginally. “Did you  _ think _ you were?”

“No,” Sheila said again, a little wearily.

He opened the door completely and pointed at the pregnancy test which still lay on the table next to Sheila. “Then what is  _ that _ ?”

Sheila didn't answer, just looked at him, waiting for him to put the pieces together.

Berger pointed towards the door. “Wait,  _ Jeannie _ ?” he hissed.

“You don't need to whisper,” Sheila hissed back. “There's no one else here.” In her normal speaking voice, she continued, “Yes, Jeannie. Don't lose your shit.”

“Jesus.” Berger ran a hand through his hair. “Is she okay?”

Sheila shrugged. “Not really. She'll get there.” She crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows at Berger, who was still staring into space with a slightly dazed expression on his face. “You're still losing your shit, aren't you?”

Berger nodded. “A little bit,” he said, his voice jumping several octaves. “I was about to start planning my life as a teenage father! I can't even drink yet!” He paused and amended himself when Sheila laughed loudly. “Legally. I can't even, technically, vote yet. I guess it's close enough, but – ”

Sheila stood up, crossed the room, and cut him off by kissing him lightly on the lips. “I'm not pregnant, dumbass.”

Berger lifted Sheila's chin with two fingers and kissed her back. Sheila let this carry on for a moment before ducking away from him. Berger whined sadly but didn't otherwise protest.

“Hey, don't tell anyone about Jeannie, okay?” Sheila said, walking into the kitchen. “Want something to drink?”

“Of course I'm not going to tell anyone,” said Berger, disgruntled. “No, I don't want anything.”

Sheila turned back to face Berger, pouring herself a coffee, and hoisted herself up to sit on the counter. “Not even Claude,” she said.

“Why would I tell Claude?” Berger said distractedly, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check a text message.

“You're never not talking to him,” Sheila said.

“That's not true.”

Sheila pointed at Berger's phone. “Who are you texting right now as we speak?”

Berger shoved his phone back in his pocket. “Claude.” He grinned sheepishly. “I won't tell him! He's asking what I want for my birthday! Which is a question I haven't heard from you, by the way."

Sheila grinned back. “I'm broke, baby, don't expect anything from me.”

“We'll see if I find it in my heart to forgive you,” said Berger. He leaned against the wall across from Sheila, crossing his arms. “Wanna go do something? I'm bored. Maybe Woof will be at the park.”

Sheila glanced at the clock. “I actually... have to go,” she said apologetically. She slid down from the counter and crossed the room, slipping her hands around Berger's waist. “We can hang out later if you want.”

Berger looked a little hurt. “I just got here. Where are you going?”

“There's this political activist group on campus I wanted to check out?” She pressed a kiss to Berger's cheek. “You can come if you want.”

Berger pulled away from her. “Right, I bet they'd love to have a high school kid at their college activist group.”

“You _could_ be in college,” Sheila said. “They wouldn't know.”

“But I'm not in college,” snapped Berger. “I'll probably never go to college. If I'm _lucky_ I'll make it out of high school.”

Sheila drew back, startled by his sudden outburst. “Why are you being like this?” She grabbed his hand. “Berger, you're smarter than you think you are.”

“Tell that to the principal,” he said moodily. He rolled his eyes and rubbed his hands over his face with a groan.

Sheila bit her lip. “Are you okay? Want me to skip the meeting?”

“I've been having _a day_ ,” Berger said, his voice muffled behind his hands, before he dropped them to his sides. He smiled at her, although Sheila knew he was good at being happy even when he wasn't. “Go to your meeting,” he said.

Sheila stepped forward and kissed him on the lips. “Don't go home if you don't want to,” she said. “Wait here. Stay with me tonight.”

Berger nodded. “Okay.”

“Hey, I love you, you know?” Sheila said.

Berger nodded again, then grabbed her arm and pulled her close for a hug, his fingers digging into her shoulders. “I know,” he mumbled. He released her a moment later.

“See you tonight?” Sheila said.

“Yeah,” Berger said, then grinned and playfully slapped her ass. “See you tonight, honey.”

Taking this as a cue not to question him further, Sheila played along, making a face and flipping him off as she walked out the door.

 


	4. I Love Your Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Berger's birthday and he and Claude and Sheila have some relationship confusion. Claude also has some troubles at home. Claude has a lot of problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like eventually I'm going to run out of relevant lyrics with which to title my chapters.
> 
> Sorry for the wait on this chapter. Real life getting in the way. Hopefully next chapter will be quicker! 
> 
> Also, Claude and Berger are meme-loving fucks. And my memes are outdated by now.

Claude shoved his camera into his bag, then opened his bedroom door and nearly ran into his father, who was standing just outside it. 

“Dad, we've gotta stop meeting like this,” said Claude.

His father gave him a once-over. “Cut your hair. You look like a girl.”

“I would,” Claude said, slipping past him into the hallway, “but I was just on my way to get my girlfriends to braid ribbons into it and paint my fingernails.”

“You've got a smart mouth,” his father said.

“This is perfect,” Claude said. “It's too bad I don't have my camera out. If I did I could capture you in your natural habitat.” He closed one eye and held up his hands, framing his father's face as if directing a movie. “Yelling at me. Wanna be Internet famous, Dad? I've got like ten Youtube subscribers.”

His father slapped Claude's hands away, then held up a piece of paper. “I spoke to an army buddy of mine. He wants you to meet with him about recruitment. Here's his number.” He thrust the paper towards Claude.

Claude suddenly had the overwhelming feeling that his life was a train car hurtling full speed down a hill, out of his control, with only one possible destination, and before Claude even realized what he was doing, he snatched the paper from his father, tore it to shreds, and tossed the pieces on the floor.

“Fuck your army buddy,” Claude said, knowing he was playing with fire, but his whole body was shaking and he couldn't stop himself.

His dad moved to slap him again, but Claude dodged his hand and bolted for the door, letting it slam behind him.

xxx

For Berger's birthday he had decided, for some reason, that they should all meet at an indoor roller skating rink popular with twelve-year-olds. It was cheesy, crowded, and played music that was only popular with the tween audience, but oddly enough, it was a good time.

When Claude arrived, he found nearly everyone already there, gathered around a table where Berger lounged in a manner that suggested they should all be fanning him and feeding him pizza. His face was painted yellow and orange and gold. 

Berger beamed at Claude when he saw him. “Claudio!” he yelled.

“Berger!” Claude yelled back. “What's going on with your face?”

Jeannie raised a yellow-and-gold-splattered hand. “My fault. He's a lion, d'you get it? 'Cause he's Leo?”

“It's _awesome_!” Berger said delightedly.

 Claude flopped down across the table from him, next to Crissy and Dionne, and threw the box with Berger's present in it onto the table.

 "I'd paint your face, Claude,” Jeannie said, “if I knew what Aquarius looked like.”

 Berger pointed at Claude. “Did you bring your camera? You gotta film me opening my presents, like all those home movies my parents never took.”

“Uh, yeah, that's what I'm here for.” Claude looked at Dionne. “So, before I left my place, I told my dad I was going to have my girlfriends paint my fingernails, so if I come home without painted fingernails, he might call me a liar. Can anyone help me out here?”

Dionne gave him a wry smile and started digging through her purse. “How'd your dad feel about you having painted fingernails?”

“I guess I'll find out,” he said. He took the proffered sparkly purple nail polish from Dionne.

“Dionne, that's mine!” exclaimed Jeannie. “I've been looking for it!”

“Oops,” Dionne said casually.

 “I guess Claude can use it,” Jeannie conceded. “Give it back to me when you're done, Claude, if you give it to Dionne I'll never see it again.”

Claude hardly heard Jeannie, concentrating harder than was probably necessary on the nail polish. He'd painted his nails maybe once before in his life and it hadn't turned out well.

Dionne watched him slowly paint a stripe on his first finger, before holding out her hand. “Give it to me, babe,” she said. “At this rate you'll take ten years to do one hand.”

Claude gratefully handed over the nail polish and with his other hand dug out his video camera and switched it on. “Berger, you can open presents now, I've got your home movie going.” He glanced around. “Where's Sheila?”

Berger opened his mouth grumpily to answer, but Crissy quickly cut in. “She had a meeting, she'll be here soon. She's bringing cupcakes!”

Ignoring this, Berger grabbed the box Claude had bought and ripped the paper off. He roared with laughter when he opened it to discover Claude had given him the ugliest, gaudiest pair of cowboy boots he'd been able to find.

Claude grinned at Berger's reaction. “Now, you don't have to wear them,” Claude said, “but I do have one question.” He zoomed his camera in on the boots. “What – are – _those_?” Berger let out another hoot of laughter, and Claude continued, “I wish I could say I didn't buy those for the sake of a meme. But they were cheap as shit.”

“No,” Berger said, catching his breath, “what's stupider than that is I _will_ actually wear them.” He stood up and wrapped his arm around Claude's neck, pulling him close to kiss him on the cheek. “Actually, they look like something Woof would wear. Woof, wouldn't you buy these, like, unironically?”

Woof glanced at the boots. “I can't buy anything, Berger. But if I could, I would buy those boots. I'm offended no one got them for me.”

“It's not _your_ birthday, Woof!” Berger yelled. He put the box aside, grabbing a smaller one from the table. “Who's this from?” he demanded, waving it in the air.

Crissy waved her hand in the air in response. “Me!”

Berger opened it to find a bracelet inside it. “Aw, Crissy, did you make me a friendship bracelet?” he said enthusiastically.

Crissy beamed as Berger immediately put it on. “Yes! We're in the same class at school now, aren't you excited?”

Berger threw the box aside and glared at her. “You bring up that hell pit, high school, on this, the day of my birth? We're friends because I already put on this bracelet, but I'm not speaking to you now. I'm going skating.”

Fifteen minutes later, everyone had migrated to the skating rink, where Berger organized an intense game of tag. When Sheila arrived, Claude was sweating like he'd run a half-marathon and chugging a glass of Coke back at their table.

“Claudio!” Sheila said, rushing in, her hair streaming behind her and boxes threatening to tumble out of her arms. She dropped the boxes – one a gift-wrapped present and the other full of cupcakes – on the table. “Where's my boyfriend?”

Before Claude could answer, Berger bellowed Sheila's name from somewhere across the room, and he flew by to tackle her in a hug.

Sheila let out a loud laugh when Berger released her and she saw his lion-painted face. “Cute,” she said, and bared her teeth and held her hands up like claws. Berger made the same gesture back at her, and she laughed again. “I'm glad to see you're embracing adulthood. That makes this perfect.” She thrust the gift-wrapped box at him.

“What is it?” Berger asked, but didn't wait for an answer before he tore into it and pulled out the colorfully-packaged card game. “Uno!” he yelled. “Me and Claude used to play this all the time at our baby-sitter's house!” Berger grabbed Sheila and kissed her on the cheek, and she beamed.

“I thought as long as we were feeling nostalgic,” she said, grinning ear-to-ear. “Sorry I was late. I had to get cupcakes after the meeting.”

“How many different games can we play with Uno cards?” Berger said. “Thanks for the cupcakes. That's why I love you.”

xxx

By the time everyone started to make their way home, it was still early, and Claude wasn't in the mood to go home yet, so Sheila invited him back to her place with Berger.

Once back at the apartment, Sheila suggested they play Uno. Berger said that was boring and they should make it more interesting. Sheila asked him how, and after several drinks Berger suggested they modify the rules and play Strip Uno instead.

Sheila said Uno was a children's game and Berger was defiling it. Berger retorted that defiling things was his favorite thing to do.

An hour later Sheila sat cross-legged on the floor, barefoot and smug, while Claude and Berger were in varying states of undress. Berger wore boxers and a vest over his bare chest, and he had purposely taken his pants off before his shoes, so he could leave on the awful boots Claude had given him.

Claude was down to his pants, but he was hopeful that fate would be kind to him and he could still win the game.

Berger slapped down a red five card and turned to Sheila. “I'm praying to whatever god there is that you lose this hand,” he said. “It's not fair how much you still have on.”

Sheila looked at the cards in her hand, crossed her eyes, stuck out her tongue, and drew a new card.

Berger whooped. “There is a god!”

Sheila pulled her shirt over her head, threw it at Berger, and flipped him off. She looked at Claude. “Your turn.”

Claude, who was staring at Sheila's chest and trying not to think too hard about what she looked like without a bra on, swallowed. “What?”

Sheila snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Claudio!” Claude jumped and blinked and looked at her. “Stop gawking at me and play your hand.”

Claude looked away, trying to hide the grin flitting across his face. “Sorry.”

“He's blushing,” announced Berger.

“No I'm not,” Claude mumbled, even as he felt his neck and ears burning. He looked at his cards and heaved a sigh. “Fucking hell.”

Berger cackled. “Take it off, baby!”

Claude slowly rose to his feet, undid his zipper, and yanked his jeans to the ground. Berger wolf-whistled as Claude kicked them aside. Despite feeling very unsexy in his boxer-briefs, Claude swayed his hips in Berger's direction and dropped him a wink.

“Dude,” Berger said. “Bro. No homo, dude, but I'd totally suck your dick, bro.” 

Claude burst out laughing. “Is that what you'd call a _bro_ -job?"

“Oh my God,” muttered Sheila, her face in her hands.

Claude sprawled across the floor with his head in Berger's lap. He reached up and stroked Berger's face. “Dude,” he said seriously, “you can give me a bro-job anytime you want.” Unable to keep a straight face, he burst into another round of giggles.

“Get outta my lap, you're gonna see my cards,” Berger protested, but rather than push him away, he ruffled Claude's hair.

Claude glanced over at Sheila and found her looking at him – but looking somewhere decidedly lower than his face. He nudged her with his foot. “Hey,” he said. “Who's gawking now?”

Sheila jumped and flushed red. “Fuck off!”

Berger looked from Claude to Sheila and back. “Do you two need to make out or something, get it out of your system?”

 Claude sat up. “What are you talking about?”

 "The fact that you want to jump each other's bones.”

“We do not!” Sheila said.

Berger snorted. “Clearly, you do.”

“We do n – ” Sheila cut herself off. “You know what?” Seeming to take Berger's bait as a challenge, she threw her cards to the floor, and scooted over to kneel in front of Claude – knocking over the decks of cards as she did so.

“Aw, come on, you're ruining the game,” Berger complained. “Now I can see your cards and you knocked the deck over so I'm totally going to cheat now.”

“So cheat,” Sheila said.

Claude rearranged himself so he was kneeling in front of Sheila, too. Sheila was staring at him, hadn't moved her eyes from his, and it had become a contest now, and Claude was struggling not to blink first.

Claude leaned his forehead against Sheila's, and her eyelids fluttered but didn't close.

“Do you feel like there's something uncomfortable about this?” murmured Sheila.

Claude grinned. “Feel like someone's watching us?” He could see Berger out of the corner of his eye looking at them.

“You're right,” said Sheila. “I don't know what it is.”

Berger heaved an enormous sigh. “Oh my God, guys, this isn't Seven Minutes in Heaven.” He flopped onto his back and threw his hands over his eyes.

Sheila's face split into a grin and she giggled, struggling to keep her eyes open.

“Ha!” Claude crowed. “You blinked.”

Sheila rested her head against Claude's shoulder, still laughing, and Claude stroked the back of her head. When she looked up, Claude lifted her chin with his hand and leaned in to kiss her, but Sheila suddenly jerked away.

“Wait, wait.”

Sheila backed away from Claude and Berger sat up.

Claude raised his eyebrows, startled, but asked gently, “What's wrong?”

“I don't know. I changed my mind.” Sheila bit her lip and looked at Berger, wordlessly questioning him.

“I wouldn't care,” Berger said. “You know I wouldn't care. I kiss him all the time and you think I'd care about _you_ kissing him?”

“Maybe you should, did you think of that?” Sheila snapped. “Maybe _I_ would.” She pushed her hair out of her face with one hand. “Maybe I don't want to be – you can't just pass me around like – Berger, I'm with _you_ , I don't understand – ”

“Hang on,” Claude said, alarmed. “I wasn't trying to – Sheila, I don't expect anything, I didn't mean anything by it.”

Sheila's head was down, her hair blocking her face from Claude, but he saw her nod.

Berger grabbed her hand and pulled her over to him. Sheila kissed him, hard, like she was trying to prove something, and when she broke away she looked at Claude.

Claude looked back at Sheila and wished, not for the first time, that he knew what she was thinking. People like Berger who wore their hearts on their sleeves were easy, but Sheila and her guarded heart were impossible. Her face could be telling him anything. She looked scared and he didn't know what she could be scared of. If only he could slip into her head and know what she was thinking and what she wanted.

“Claude?” Sheila said. She held out her hand and he took it and squeezed gently.

“It's okay,” Claude said.

“She's impossible to deal with, you don't want her anyway,” Berger piped up.

Sheila dug her elbow into his ribs, looking less than amused. “Shut _up_.”

“You don't have to be a dick, Berger,” Claude said, a little annoyed. As long as Berger had a front-row seat to Sheila's feelings being laid out on the floor, he could embrace some tact. Especially when it had been his idea to go there in the first place.

“I'm always a dick,” Berger said.

Sheila smiled slightly. “I think we all can agree there,” she murmured.

“At least you know it,” said Claude with a grin. He cleared his throat. “Um, I should go home.”

“Aw, okay, babe,” said Berger, as Claude gathered his clothes. “We'll miss you. Well, I'll miss you. Who knows if Sheila will?”

Sheila groaned. “Jesus Christ, fuck you.”

“Sheila, if you're sick of Berger, I can take him off your hands,” Claude said. He paused. “Wait, no, I don't want him either.”

Berger threw Claude's jeans at him, and Claude caught them, laughing. “You guys are so mean to me,” Berger said. “Go away, Claude. Go watch Doctor Who or whatever nerdy space shit you watch these days."

Claude adopted a ridiculously exaggerated English accent. “I shall! Thank you for your kind wishes. I'll miss you both.” He flung open the door, and as he bowed out, he blew kisses at both Berger and Sheila. “Ta-ta, darlings.”

xxx

Claude slipped into his apartment, shutting the door as quietly as he could behind him. He turned around and saw his mother, asleep in an armchair. He gently touched her arm and she woke with a start.

“Good, you're home,” she said.

“Mom, it's like 1:30 in the morning,” Claude said. “Were you waiting up for me?”

His mother stood up, drawing her bathrobe around her, and patted Claude on the arm as she walked past him into the kitchen. “Just making sure you got home safe. There's leftovers in the fridge if you're hungry.”

“I'm okay, thanks.” Claude stopped at his bedroom door, noticing a paper taped to it. He pulled it down. There was a name and an address written on it, with the words “four p.m.” circled.

“Mom, what's this?” he called.

“Your father made an appointment for you tomorrow.”

Claude didn't answer for a moment, staring at the paper in his hands. When he finally spoke, he was surprised at how steady his voice was and how calm he felt. “With his army buddy?”

“I think so.”

Claude went into his bedroom, flopping onto the bed in the dark, alone with his thoughts.

He didn't _have_ to meet with the guy. Claude had learned long ago that he didn't have to do everything his dad wanted him to – there was never any real consequence.

Maybe it would be easier if Claude _didn't_ have to make the choice himself.

But, he told himself, a meeting was just a meeting. Maybe he could humor his father just this once.

If he could only ignore the part of himself that thought maybe enlisting wouldn't be such a bad idea.

A meeting would make things much clearer, he thought decisively, and rolled over and went to sleep.

 


	5. How About A Needing Friend?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings are complicated and so is life.

Sheila awoke to a cell phone flash going off in her face. Which did nothing to help her splitting headache. She opened her eyes blearily to see Berger examining the photo he'd just taken.

“What're you doing?” she mumbled.

“I needed a new lockscreen,” he said.

“You're using my hungover ass as your lockscreen?”

“No,” Berger said. “Your hungover _face_!”

He shot her a silly grin that Sheila couldn't help returning, before she picked up her own phone to check the time. She groaned and hauled herself out of bed.

Berger grabbed her hand. “Wait, where're you going?”

“Meeting Jeannie,” she said. “Planned Parenthood. Why'd you let us sleep til three in the afternoon?”

Berger sat up. “Since when am  _ I _ the one who wakes up on time? Why can't Jeannie go to Planned Parenthood by herself?”

Sheila made a face. “Have you seen the assholes who hang out outside Planned Parenthood? She can't handle it by herself. Where's my shirt?”

“When and why have you been to Planned Parenthood?” Berger demanded. “I don't know where your shirt is.”

“Left it in the other room, didn't I?” She threw open her bedroom door to retrieve her shirt from the living room. Upon returning, she answered, “I go to Planned Parenthood to get birth control, idiot.” She snapped her fingers with a smile. “Come on, pay attention."

Berger blinked slowly, his eyebrows creasing just slightly. “You know I'm paying attention,” he said. “I pay attention to  _ you _ .”

Sheila shut her mouth. She spoke too fast and too much – a character flaw, she thought. He'd taken her teasing more seriously than she'd intended it. She stepped over and kissed him slowly. “I take you for granted,” she murmured.

Berger's face softened into a serene smile. “I don't know what you're feeling bad about, but you can keep kissing me if you want.”

She kissed the top of his head. “I can't, I gotta go, babe.” She grabbed her bag from her dresser. “Planned Parenthood with Jeannie, then I got a meeting on campus so don't wait around for me.”

Berger rolled over onto his back. “You'd be a horrible wife.”

“Good thing I'm not your wife!” Sheila shot back on her way out the door.

xxx

Sheila and Jeannie stood across the street from Planned Parenthood. There was a group of five or six people holding signs protesting the clinic standing around outside it.

Jeannie eyed them warily. “You've been here before, right?”

Sheila nodded. “A few times. It's not that bad. You just ignore them.”

“Easier said than done.” Jeannie swallowed and seemed to steel herself. “Okay, let's go.”

Sheila grabbed Jeannie's hand and led her across the street. When the protesters saw them, they converged like a flock of birds on a scrap of bread. They were relentless, Sheila thought bitterly. She'd been seventeen the first time she'd come here and much less sure of herself than she was now. But these people were the same – intimidating, even frightening, especially to a high school student.

Jeannie wasn't seventeen, but Sheila felt protective anyway.

“God doesn't make mistakes,” one woman chirped, fake cheerfulness with a fake smile pasted on her face.

“What if your parents had aborted you?” a man added.

Sheila wrapped an arm around Jeannie's shoulder and pulled her past. “Let us through,” she snapped. Sometimes she'd fake cheerfulness back at these people, but she wasn't in the mood today.

“I'm not even here for an abortion!” Jeannie said anxiously.

Sheila pulled her tighter. “Ignore them,” Sheila said firmly. “They don't  _ care _ .”

“You're supporting the murder of babies!” a horrified woman cried, but by that time Sheila and Jeannie had reached the door, and Sheila ushered Jeannie inside.

Sheila waited while Jeannie signed in at the desk, then flopped into a chair to wait. Jeannie sat down next to her, drawing her feet up and sitting cross-legged in the chair.

“You okay?” Sheila asked.

Jeannie nodded. She brushed hair out of her face. “I don't care what they think of me. They don't know me.”

Sheila looked at her. “What's wrong?”

“I called my parents yesterday,” Jeannie said. “I told them I was pregnant.” She looked at Sheila. “They told me, _stay_ pregnant. They're not going to help.”

Sheila reached out and took Jeannie's hand. “ _ I'm _ going to help.” She smiled encouragingly and squeezed. “Whatever you decide to do.”

“I know. I appreciate it.” Jeannie leaned her head back against the wall. “I don't know what I'm going to do yet.” After a moment of silence, Jeannie burst out, more angrily than was characteristic of her, “My parents would rather I just marry the guy who knocked me up. Never mind what kind of piece of shit he is."

“Hey,” Sheila said, “don't listen to that.”

“I'm not,” Jeannie said, but continued, sounding increasingly desperate. “I just – if I was married – if _Claude_ would marry me – ”

Sheila shook her head, cutting Jeannie off. “Claude won't marry you. You've gotta move on, honey.”

“That's what Dionne told me last night.” Jeannie folded her arms. “I know it's hopeless.”

“I'd marry you, Jeannie,” Sheila said. “For what it's worth, I'd marry you. If Berger didn't have my whole heart, anyway.” She paused. “I can't explain that, you know. I don't know what it is about him that gets me so weak.”

“Why explain it?” Jeannie said wistfully. “Isn't it better when you don't understand? I don't know why you look at Berger that way – I don't know why Claude looks at _you_ that way.”

“At me?” Sheila said. “Jeannie, why do you keep saying that? I know Claude looks at Berger in a _way_ – he doesn't look at _me_ – not that I want him to anyway – ”

Jeannie sighed. “You're like a horse with blinders on when Berger's around.”

Sheila opened her mouth to protest, indignant at being compared to a horse, but remembered Claude's eyes on her body the previous night. And her eyes on him. It was something – more than platonic, if she could admit it to herself. She felt heat rise in her cheeks.

“See?” Jeannie said, noticing her blush. “You do know what I'm talking about.”

Sheila thought about Claude's fingers under her chin, him leaning in – remembered her sudden feeling of vulnerability, jerking away from him as if electrocuted, confusion about what she was  _ doing _ , guilt at the look on his face.

“I don't,” Sheila said. She ran a hand through her hair. “I don't, Jeannie. Me and Claude – and Berger, for that matter – the three of us... It's all mixed up and confusing.”

Sheila glanced at Jeannie, who was looking at her with sympathy. Sheila sighed. “I don't want to talk about this anymore,” she mumbled.

Maybe it was best not to think about it too much. Ignorance was bliss, as they said. She had Berger.  _ Claude _ had Berger. When she thought about it, that's when she realized it was weird, so best not to think about it. She was happy. Maybe that would be enough.

xxx

Sheila and Jeannie stopped for ice cream after the appointment. As they walked and Jeannie licked at her cone, she commented, “You know I went vegan for a little while earlier this summer. I mean, not just vegan, the whole all-natural thing.”

“Did you give it up because you couldn't go without ice cream?” Sheila said with a grin.

Jeannie shook her head. “Too expensive. Do you know how much it costs to eat organic?”

“I've heard,” Sheila said dryly.

“Dionne kind of had a fit about it when I couldn't pay my half of the rent,” Jeannie said. “I'd already cancelled my phone line.”

“Jeannie...”

“Don't look at me like that, I'm fine,” said Jeannie. “I wasn't making a lot of money. But now I'm actually getting traffic on Etsy! And I have another job, you know, I'm doing okay.”

Sheila stopped, grabbing Jeannie's hand to get Jeannie to look at her. “If you need help you know I'm here.”

“I'm not taking charity, Sheila.” She pulled away. “I should start volunteering for those environmental clean-up projects.”

Sheila hurried to catch up with her. “Maybe one of those could actually pay you.”

Jeannie shrugged. “Do you ever think about all the processed food and chemicals and crap we eat? And breathe in? It's in the air, you know. As a prospective mother, shouldn't I be worrying about this?”

“Kind of a lot to worry about all at once.”

Jeannie suddenly stopped dead in her tracks and Sheila nearly bumped into her. “Jeannie!” She grabbed Jeannie's arm, concerned.

Jeannie hardly reacted, staring ahead of her like she was looking at an angel, or a god, or –

“Claude,” Jeannie breathed.

Sheila released Jeannie and looked around. Claude was a little ways ahead of them, leaving a military recruitment office. He didn't see Sheila or Jeannie, turning to walk in the other direction.

“What is he doing there?” muttered Sheila. “Hey! _Claude_!”

Claude jumped slightly as he turned around. His face lit up. “Hi, Sheila! Hey, Jeannie.”

“Hi, Claude,” Jeannie said, turning shy and smitten, but Sheila wasn't bothering to worry about Jeannie's crush right now.

“What were you doing in _there_?” Sheila demanded.

Claude held up his hands. “Don't freak out, okay? I was just talking to them.”

Sheila stared at him. “You're not considering joining up!”

Claude shrugged.

“Oh my God, you _are_!”

“I'm considering...” Claude waved his hands in a vague gesture, “...a variety of options.”

While Sheila struggled to process this and make a response, Jeannie cut in, “Hey, Claude. My nail polish looks good on you.”

Claude looked at his fingernails. “Yeah, I wanted to leave it on. It's a good color. Hey.” He pointed at Jeannie's purple shirt. “We match! Looks better on you, though.”

“How's the military feel about potential recruits wearing nail polish?” Sheila said snidely, knowing she was being a bitch but not caring.

Claude grinned. “Keep your hands in your pockets and they'll never know.”

“I don't think this is funny.”

Jeannie touched Sheila's arm. “Sheila...” Sheila jerked her arm away.

“Jesus, Sheila, can you calm down?” said Claude, a little more sharply, his light demeanor falling away.

“I am calm,” Sheila snapped. “I gotta go. I have a meeting. Protesting _assault weapons_ and _militarized_ police forces.” She pushed past Claude, but he grabbed her hand.

“Hey,” he said, looking suddenly interested. “Are you really doing that? Protesting?”

She pulled her hand away. “What do you care?”

“I think that's awesome,” he said. “I've always thought you should do stuff like that.”

Sheila stared at him. “Yeah, I'm kind of smart about this kind of thing,” she said, bitingly sarcastic.

“I know!” Claude said, looking eager, like he wanted to have a conversation on the topic right then and there.

She pulled her gaze away from his. “I'm late. Jeannie, you coming with me or staying with him?”

“I'll walk home with Claude,” Jeannie said. “I don't want you to miss your meeting.”

“Sheila,” Claude called after her. “Don't get into trouble, okay?”

“Yeah,” she muttered. “You too.” She shoved her hands in her pockets and walked away, shoulders hunched.

 


	6. On September 12th, Right Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crissy meets a boyyyyy.
> 
> Suggested listening: "I Really Really Really Like You" or "Call Me Maybe" by Carly Rae Jepson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the longgggg wait for the update... The next one will come sooner, and I CAN promise this because tbh the next chapter is already more than half-written. And the next chapter will also be a little more lengthy. So stay tuned! Thanks for reading and leaving kudos if you have done so! [peace sign emoji that I can't actually insert here]

On September twelfth Crissy met a boy at the IFC Center.

On September eleventh Claude had invited everyone to see a movie with him.

In response, everyone groaned.

“No one but you likes those artsy movies at the IFC Center,” Dionne said.

“It's not artsy!” Claude protested. He struggled to sit up from where he was lying, tangled up between Berger and Sheila as usual. He managed to extricate himself, Berger shifting so his legs were in Claude's lap instead.

“They show some cool documentaries sometimes,” Jeannie pointed out. 

“That's true,” Dionne conceded. “But I've seen some of the things they show over there – heavy shit.”

“I'd go,” Jeannie said, “but I can't.” She was looking at Claude with the same kind of expression Crissy imagined Taylor Swift had when she wrote “Teardrops On My Guitar.” 

Claude didn't notice. He had his arm around Sheila, who didn't seem particularly happy about the arrangement.

“You okay, Sheila?” Jeannie asked.

“She's mad at Claude,” Berger said.

“Miss Franklin is mad at me,” Claude said, “for speaking to the enemy.”

“He went to an army recruitment center the other day,” Berger said.

“Will you stop speaking for me?” Sheila snapped. “Assholes. I'm not mad at anyone.”

Claude leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “Will you go to the movie with me then?”

“ _Claude_.” Sheila pulled away from him. “No, I'm busy tomorrow."

Claude sighed forlornly. “Will someone come with me? I promise it's not even artsy,” he pleaded. “The movie is  _ Howard the Duck _ . It's stupid.”

Crissy took pity on him. “I'll go with you, Claude.”

“Crissy!” Claude's face lit up like the sun. “You're my hero, babe. I promise you won't regret it. And we can officially say now that Crissy is my favorite amongst all of you people.”

So on September twelfth Crissy found herself at the ticket counter at the IFC Center, buying tickets to Howard the Duck.

She felt she had been slightly misled. She'd heard the word “artsy” and had imagined herself and Claude watching an indie film of the highest caliber. The idea had made her feel cultured and intelligent.

She had missed the part of the conversation where Claude said the movie was stupid. But she had no one to blame for that but herself and her own flights of fancy.

And at the end of the day, Crissy told herself, she never had a bad time with Claude, especially not watching a movie with Claude, regardless of how good the movie was. Claude was, in fact, the best person she knew to watch a bad movie with.

As Crissy stood in line at the ticket counter thinking all this, there was a disturbance ahead of her.

“You gave me twenty and I said your tickets were $22.50,” said the bored cashier.

“Dammit,” said the boy ahead of Crissy. “I'm short. I guess I could wait til my friend gets here, he'll have the $2.50.”

At this, Crissy spoke up, “No, you'll lose your place in line, let me spot you.”

The boy turned around and Crissy had to catch her back – he was  _ handsome _ , handsome in a way that made her feel very shy, like she wanted to run and hide, actually – but she resisted the urge.

“Really?” the boy said, his eyebrows furrowed, in adorable confusion. “Do I know you?”

“N-no,” Crissy stammered. She swallowed, regained her composure, and smiled. “I'm down on my random acts of kindness quota.”

The boy smiled back. “Thanks.”

After he'd exchanged Crissy's $2.50 with the cashier for his tickets, the boy turned back to Crissy. “I'm Frank Mills, by the way.”

“Crissy.” She held out her hand, and he shook it. 

“What movie are you seeing?” Frank asked.

“Oh.” Crissy looked around the theater, and waved her hand at an impressive-looking poster. “That one.”

“That's the one I'm seeing!” Frank said. “Want to come in with me? I'll be able to pay you back.”

Crissy burst out laughing, too loudly. “I'd love to, but I'm lying to sound cool. I'm seeing Howard the Duck.”

Frank raised his eyebrows.

“With a sci-fi movie geek friend?” Crissy offered as explanation.

“Boyfriend?” asked Frank.

Crissy felt heat rise in her face. “No,” she said, and giggled more, before she could stop herself. “Claude isn't my boyfriend.”

“Good,” said Frank, and smiled at her again.

Crissy felt like she was going to lose her mind. Luckily, before that happened, she spotted Claude walking into the theater. “Oh, my friend is here!” she cried. “I should go!”

“Wait, how am I going to pay you back?” Frank asked.

Crissy shook her head. “It's a gift!”

“At least give me your number,” said Frank. “So I can try to pay you back again, if nothing else. Like I could buy you coffee, or something.”

“Oh my gosh,” said Crissy, beyond flustered. “Okay.” 

She dug in her purse for a pen, and, after an embarrassingly long time rummaging through it, Frank spoke up again. “Here, why don't you just enter it in my phone.”

“Oh,” Crissy said. She took his proffered phone, quickly entered her number, and handed it back to him.

He smiled his charming smile again and put the phone in his pocket. “Bye, Crissy,” he said. “Enjoy your movie.”

“Oh my gosh,” said Crissy again. “Enjoy yours too.”

Before she could make any more of a fool of herself, she dashed across the theater to meet Claude, who had been keeping his distance, but watching curiously.

“Who was _that_?” Claude said teasingly. “He's _cute_.”

“Shut up!” hissed Crissy, blushing furiously. “That's _Frank_ and I _know_ he's cute.” 

Claude offered her his arm, and as Crissy took it, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She jumped and pulled it out with her free hand, reading the text message, “It's Frank Mills. Now you have my number too :)"

“What does this mean, he sent me a smiley face emoji!” Crissy practically yelped.

“I would say,” Claude said thoughtfully, “it means he wants to take you to dinner, court you like a gentleman, carry you into his house bridal-style – marriage optional, don't look at me like that – before giving it to you. Like a gentleman, obviously.”

Crissy swatted at him. “ _ Stop _ it!” Despite herself, she was smiling so hard it hurt and she could  _ tell _ her face was still bright red.

“What?” Claude said with a grin. “There was courting involved. There will _definitely_ be courting involved.”

“Speaking of courting,” Crissy said as they approached the theater, “has your lover's spat with Sheila from yesterday been resolved?”

Claude shoved her gently. “Sheila and I aren't  _ lovers _ , silly. And we weren't in a spat. The incomparable Miss Franklin is busy with her liberal politics today. That's the only reason she wouldn't come."

“And what about Berger?” Crissy asked, only because normally Claude and Berger were joined at the hip. 

“Home in Hoboken,” Claude said, “with his dad. So like I said, you're my hero today, Crissy, otherwise I'd be here alone, and what could be worse than that?”

Sometimes, Crissy thought, Claude could be very lonely. He wasn't shy and he wasn't unfriendly, quite the opposite. But she often felt a disconnect between him and the rest of the group – and she wasn't sure if that was Claude's own doing, if they didn't make enough effort to include him, or if it was just the way Claude was.

Crissy took his hand tightly, twining her fingers with his. “Claude,” she said carefully, “you know we all love you, right? Every single one of us.”

“Oh, Crissy,” Claude said with a grin that made her feel silly for thinking anything could possibly be wrong. “I love every single one of you, too.”

 


End file.
